


Consequence

by gwennolmarie



Series: In The Event of Regretful Actions [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Angst, Animal Death, Corporal Punishment, Gen, Heavy Angst, Pre-Canon, Punishment, Slapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 11:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17385452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwennolmarie/pseuds/gwennolmarie
Summary: Dutch stops suddenly.Shoves Arthur to his knees in the wet leaves and mud.Arthur struggles to stay balanced for a moment.Doesn’t dare look up.“I know…” Dutch hisses, “I know I’ve taught you better than to act such a fool.”





	Consequence

A gunshot has never sounded so loud.

Arthur’s left frozen, staring ahead at the gang where they sit around the fire.

He hears the pained screaming of a horse.

He doesn’t want to look.

Everyone looks stunned.

They’re all gawking behind him and to his right.

He doesn’t want to look.

“Arthur!” He hears Dutch shout.

Angry.

Livid.

Arthur swallows and turns.

It seems to spur the others into action.

The horse is stumbling, rearing and tripping over itself.

A couple of the gang go to unhitch him and calm him down.

Arthur sees blood pouring from a bullethole in the side of the horse’s ribs.

A hand claps hard on the back of his neck.

Grips.

The pistol is ripped from his limp hand.

He looks up to see its owner.

Hot fury in dark eyes.

“Dutch,” He whispers desperately.

The gang leader looks like he might murder Arthur.

The hand on his nape curls into his collar and Dutch starts to walk away.

Dragging Arthur with him.

The younger stumbles along.

“Dutch?” Arthur whispers, fear like ice in his veins.

The older man doesn’t answer.

Arthur can feel his own eyes stinging with unformed tears.

He watches the ground.

Tries not to stumble over the roots and rocks as they go deep into the pine forest.

Dutch stops suddenly.

Shoves Arthur to his knees in the wet leaves and mud.

Arthur struggles to stay balanced for a moment.

Doesn’t _dare_ look up.

“I know…” Dutch hisses, “I _know_ I’ve taught you better than to act such a _fool_.”

Dutch’s hand leaves his neck.

“Look at me, Morgan.”

Arthur could cry, almost does.

He barely looks up before his head is snapped sideways with the force of the back of Dutch’s hand.

Cracking across his cheek.

Arthur breathes in shakily.

Trembling and frozen.

Dutch still has the gun in his other hand.

Arthur thinks, briefly, that death might be a relief from the terror he feels.

He doesn’t want to leave.

Dutch…

Hosea…

His _family._

He hears Dutch inhale sharply.

Arthur hasn’t moved.

Still staring to the side, hands by his hips.

A curled finger lifts his chin.

Tenderly.

Arthur closes his eyes.

He doesn’t want to see the rejection.

The dismissal of their entire history.

He wouldn’t be surprised.

Between Dutch kicking him out…

Or shooting him point-blank…

He doesn’t know what he prefers.

He swallows back a sob.

“Oh, Son,” Dutch says, quietly.

The hand leaves his chin and Dutch lifts the younger man to his feet.

“Arthur?” Dutch murmurs, voice thick.

Arthur opens his eyes.

Tears spill over, running wet tracks down his cheeks.

Dripping onto his shirt.

“Shh,” Dutch soothes and gathers Arthur into his arms.

Holds the pliant young man close.

“Shh,” Dutch repeats.

“I am so…” Dutch starts.

Arthur hears regret in the older man’s voice.

He still feels panicked.

Having faced what he assumed would be death…

Or worse.

“I am so sorry,” Dutch whispers.

Presses his forehead into Arthur’s neck.

“S’okay,” Arthur croaks, “Deserved it.”

“No,” Dutch draws back, voice firm.

Eyes hard.

Arthur feels a blip of that rabid fear return.

Then Dutch pulls him close again.

Squeezing him slightly.

Arthur hesitantly wraps his arms around the older man’s back.

“You didn’t deserve that, never _that,_ ” Dutch whispers.

Arthur feels one arm unravel from around him.

Hears the slide of leather and a metallic snap.

Dutch reholstering his gun.

Arthur breaks.

Like a dam against a tidal wave.

He buries his face in the older man’s collar and sobs.

Knows he’s safe.

His safety, _Dutch_ …

His _guardian_ in more ways than one.

The rapid swing of emotions hollows him out.

He silently collects himself.

Pulls away.

Meets his leader’s remorseful eyes.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Arthur says firmly.

“You don’t need to…” Dutch hesitates.

The horse is dead by the time they reach camp.

 


End file.
